The Escape from the End of the World Affair
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are arrested and thrown into a hell-hole of a prison in Brazil as part of their mission to rescue an inmate. pre-saga mature subjects depicted but nothing graphic.
1. Chapter 1

Napoleon and Illya were in trouble, at least that's how it looked. They'd fallen into a trap, were captured and were now being sent to prison on some trumped up charges.

Trouble was, it wasn't any ordinary prison. Set in the middle of the Amazon; it was a hell hole. No one ever escaped, nor was released from it. Incarceration was a life sentence no matter what the crime...life depended upon how long one survived. The place was nicknamed '_El fin del mundo'...the end of the world._

Still it was exactly where they wanted to be. Their mission was to rescue a noted physician and researcher, Doctor Evgeny Bloom. His treatment of tropical diseases showed promise, until one of cures failed and the daughter of the ruling Generalissimo died. Bloom was lucky he hadn't been executed on the spot. Instead he was sent to prison, there to rot...if he lived that long.

U.N.C.L.E. wanted him rescued, as the man's medical research regarding tropical diseases showed great promise. The world couldn't be deprived of such genius.

Solo and Kuryakin dressed in dingy grey, cotton pajama-like uniforms though they were permitted to keep their own boots, stood waiting in front of a gate, surrounded by jungle. Once the doors opened, they were prodded by the guards into a sizeable yard with by walls too high to scale. There were guard towers at each of the corners.

Prisoners dressed similarly though, more tattered and dirty than anything, milled about, studying the fresh meat that had just walked in.

One of them, a hulking man whose muscular biceps were covered in primitive tattoos approached Kuryakin. He must have figured the slight man was an easy target, but for what, Illya had no idea. Murder, mayhem...rape, it could be anything.

"_Que lindo._ _Hola_ pretty boy. You will come stay with me in my cell, sí?"

That answered Illya's question.

"Like hell I will." The Russian backed away, glancing to his partner for help.

"You have no choice, you are mine now. Come, we go now. I want sex."

Napoleon stepped between the two."No. He's mine so lay off or you'll regret it."

The big man threw his head back, laughing loudly.

"And who is going to stop me, you _señor?_" He chuckled."I like his pretty hair. He will be my bitch now."

Without warning, Napoleon drew back his fist, slamming it into the man's solar plexus.

It did nothing.

With a deep grunt, he hit Solo with his fist, knocking him to the ground, laughing as he did so.

"That was pathetic _gringo_!"

Napoleon drove his foot upwards, connecting with the man's groin, striking as hard as he could.

The jolly green giant's eyes crossed as his hands went to his crotch, as if that would help. Solo jumped to his feet, hitting right under the chin with a right uppercut, a karate chop to the neck just for good measure. That sent him to the floor where he curled up in a fetal position, barely conscious.

"Anyone else care for a try?" Napoleon barked to the rest of the prisoners."This one," he pointed at Illya," is mine. If any of you bother him, you'll pay...and he won't be as gentle as I was."

He stepped around the fallen man, with Illya close at his heels.

"You know tovarisch, you could have jumped in at any time," he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"You were doing quite well on your own and besides, better not no show our full hand. They know what you are capable of, but I am an unknown and therefore they will think twice before, as you said, bothering me."

They headed to their cell, checking out the accommodations. Dirty straw filled mattresses in wooden bunk beds, a brown mouse scampered across the floor, disappearing through a small hole in the wall.

There was a bucket to use as a toilet, that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a long time with flies buzzing around it.

"_**I remember when**_ we were last incarcerated in a prison," Illya commented. "There were rats, at least...a good source of protein. Speaking of food; I wonder when we will be fed?"

"We're stuck in this hell hole and all you can think about is that stomach of yours?"

"Until we find Doctor Bloom, there is little else to think about, that and keep from being killed. We must survey our prison to find a means of escape, but I think it is not wise to be seen wandering just yet."

"Agreed. We need to watch the guards for their routines, though they didn't seem interested in breaking up my little fight back there."

"Napoleon I suspect they only care about prisoners not escaping. What we do to each other in here is most likely a source of amusement to them and nothing more."

Solo cocked an eyebrow, suspecting his partner was correct in his observation.

They fell into the routine of the prison, breakfast...if you could call it that was served before sun up and consisted of a watery gruel. Midday meal wasn't quite as timely and was usually a thin broth accompanied by bread.

Dinner was around six in the evening. More rice, beans and bread, but this time fruit, which was abundant in the area, was at least a nourishing addition Coffee was plentiful as well.

Once a week there was meat with the main meal, though as to what kind of meat was anyone's best guess. Most said it was monkey. Napoleon passed on that. All in all, it wasn't the worst food they'd ever had while imprisoned….

That day meat was served was deemed Sunday as there were no calendars to keep track. The men who maintained any sort of religious belief held prayers services on that day.

Enough time had passed enabling the agents to see a pattern in the changing of the guards. There was one entrance to the yard that seemed to be unprotected as watch towers looked down from each corner. Napoleon discovered a blind spot that would work to their advantage. One could stand right in front of the door and not be seen.

The towers changed shifts every four hours and there was a fifteen minute window where the guards were distracted while switching out.

Illya, speaking to some of the older prisoners at meal time asked what one did if you became sick or injured.

"You go see _el Judio_ of course, señor, " a toothless old man whispered.

"And where is this man?"

"Block C. The first cell on the left."

"The guards do not stop him from helping the prisoners?"

"Why should they care? If we live we live and if we die, then there is less of us for them to watch." There was a sense of resignation in the man's voice.

The prisoners did nothing but mill about all day, some playing chess with makeshift pieces and boards they'd made from bits and bobs, or playing card games with ones they'd fabricated. There was no mail, no contact with the outside world...these men simply no longer existed or mattered to anyone.

Boredom made for an edginess, that made for short tempers which led to fights, which happened on a regular basis.

Men would encircle those doing battle, making bets on who would live or die. The fights were over when one man died or was near death. The winnings were usually food, and cigarettes that some traded favors for with certain guards.

Solo and Kuryakin had managed to avoid any of that sort of trouble. They'd established themselves as bad asses and that was enough for people to stay away from them, for now.

It was the weak, and weak minded who engaged in these fights for sport...

The agents made their way to C block, finding a thin, white haired man sitting at his bunk, going through packets of dried leaves and seeds. Apparently some of the guards brought them to the man, having a modicum of sympathy for him. His cures had helped some of their family members.

"Dr. Bloom?" Napoleon asked as he stepped into the cell, followed by the Russian. They were a bit of a sight, fitting right in with the other prisoners as they were unwashed, and their beards had gone unshaven.

"Yes, what troubles you?"

"My name is Napoleon Solo and this is my partner….

"I'm sorry but I have no cures for venereal diseases. I suggest you use these, though it is after the fact perhaps," he held out what looked like animal intestines fashioned into condoms.

Solo cleared his throat, taken somewhat off guard by that intimation. "No we're from an organization called the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. We're here to rescue you."

"And what proof do I have that you are who you say you are?"

Illya who had remained silent thus far, spoke up in Russian.

"_Menya zovut Il'ya Kuryakin...my name is Illya Kuryakin, I am an agent of GRU on loan to U.N.C.L.E. You remember GRU do you not, and your father's duty to it. He gave his life serving the Soviet people."_

He'd read the doctor's biography prior to the mission, taking note his parents were Russian, and Illya therefore presumed the man spoke the language. Dr. Bloom's father, an agent for the GRU had been killed in the line of duty.

_"__Da_...I remember. So you a Russian and you an American are here to get me out of this hell? I am sorry to tell you gentlemen that I cannot leave. I cannot abandon the poor souls here to this abysmal place. I give them their only medical care."

"Oh boy," Napoleon mumbled. He turned to his partner, and the two spoke in hushed voices.

"What if we told you we could get as many people possible out of here along with you?"

"I am all ears Mr. Solo," Bloom smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon was in the common yard, sauntering about as he continued to observe the guards and test the blind spot near the gate. So far everything looked good for their explosive exit.

When brought to the prison they'd been stripped of everything but their boots, thank goodness as that gave them the one tactical advantage they needed in order to escape.

Inside the heels of their boots were hidden explosive putty and wrapped within their laces, fuses. There was enough compound create a diversionary explosion at one end of the yard while there was a second explosion to blow the gate. The more chaos they were able to create, the better their chance they and more prisoners could escape.

Unfortunately Napoleon and Illya couldn't tell anyone but the good doctor about the plan as loose lips sink ships; no doubt there were snitches among the general population who'd turn them in for a packet of cigarettes or a few special privileges.

"_Senhor, senhor!"_ One of the inmates came running up to Solo. "Your _amigo,_ the blond one, he is in trouble come quick!"

Napoleon's eyes went wide, his heart pounded as he ran after the man to the other side of the yard, and there he suddenly found himself surrounded.

One of the larger men with a **tattoo** of a snake on his immense bicep had Illya, holding him by the hair with one hand, while pressing a chiv with the other hand against the Russian's cheek, already drawing a trickle of blood.

"Napoleon it is a trap!" The Russian shouted but found his mouth suddenly covered with a hand to silence him. Kuryakin's eyes were wild with frustration as he was unable act; the knife had been moved to his throat.

It was too late as Rodrigo, the one who organized these fights, stepped forward. "It's time to put your money where your mouth is big shot _gringo._ Now you fight."

The oily-haired man smiled, showing his jagged **pale yellow **teeth in a feral grin. His stance exuded pure bravado as he was the alpha-male among the wolves, while the political prsioners were the sheep, and at his mercy.

"Sorry," Napoleon glibly commented,"but I don't get a paid until the end of the month."

Rodrigo laughed hard, and that gave Solo his opportunity to charge at the man, driving his shoulder into his torso and sending him to the ground.

Napoleon knew he had to fight fast and dirty, and he dropped down, straddling Rodrigo with his legs, wildly punching him...left right, left right, pounding him again and again.

The American was unaware another inmate had stepped up behind him, raising a wooden club..

Illya had to do something, and in desperation he let his body go limp, pretending to faint. The move took his captor off guard and he loosened his grip, thinking to let the Russian drop.

Unexpectedly, Kuryakin spun, grabbing the chiv and slashing down the man's face with it, deliberately avoiding cutting the artery in his neck.

In one quick move Illya turned, throwing the knife, though it was poorly balanced; he hoped it would hit his target. It landed in the shoulder of Napoleon's would be attacker, taking him down.

Solo ceased his swinging and dove, scrambling to extract the chiv, and he stood, half crouching and ready to pounce. Illya stood at his back covering his partner for the next attack.

No one moved.

"All right, it's over," Napoleon finally shouted."Go back about your business."

"Nothing here to see!" Illya barked, rubbing his head where his hair had been pulled.

Together they backed off as the crowd dispersed.

"We can no longer wait Napoleon, the next attempt on our lives may not turn out as well."

"Agreed. We go tomorrow morning after breakfast."

The next day just before dawn Napoleon and Illya sat with the doctor at the roughly hewn tables, slowly eating their watery gruel. They carried nothing with them, except the chiv.

Bloom always kept a canvas pouch slung over his shoulder as his medical bag, used to visit prisoners who were ill, confined to their bunks. It was stuffed to capacity with every herb and concoction he'd made, each wrapped carefully in bits of cloth.

Illya lifted his wooden bowl to his lips, swallowing the last bit of food.

"_Zhenya,"_ he whispered the doctor's diminutive, speaking Russian."_My idem posle zavtraka. Bud'te ryadom s Napoleon."_

"We go now?" The doctor's eyes opened wide.

"Yes," Illya repeated his instructions in English this time,"Stay with Napoleon."

"You give your word others go too?"

Again the Russian nodded. That was the truth only in that those who could escape would be the ones who had the wherewithal to run once the gate had been blown. There were no guarantees, but Illya wasn't going to tell Evgeny that tidbit.

They rose from the table, carrying their bowls with them, but left them on the ground outside once they entered the yard. It was still fairly empty, too empty for the diversion to do any good and so they waited until more of the prisoners arrived.

Once the yard was finally packed, the men began playing their games of chess, and cards. Soon the fights broke out, drawing the attention of the guards as a source of entertainment.

Illya, still carrying the chiv with him, moved cautiously to the far end of the yard. He knelt against the wall, being ignored as another fight had broken out nearby. Quickly applying the explosive compound, he stuck in a short fuse, lit lit it and moved away, but not running. He couldn't draw attention to himself.

Napoleon and Bloom had positioned themselves by the gate, and as soon as Solo saw his partner rise, he lit his own fuse and ducked to the side, protecting the doctor.

The explosion at the far end of the yard echoed against the walls with a loud bloom, sending the guards down along the wall to investigate. Seconds later the gate blew, sending the doors flying.

Napoleon grabbed the doctor by the arm, pulling him through the opening.

"But the other prisoners..." Bloom protested.

"Are on they're own Doc, now let's go!"


	3. Chapter 3

Illya took off, heading toward the gate when a fist slammed into his head, sending him reeling backwards to the ground. It was Rodrigo's tattooed henchman, the one whose face Illya had cut.

"You're a dead man blondie!" He snarled.

"Tell me something I have not heard before."

Kuryakin remained down, and unexpectedly rolled towards the man, driving the chiv up into his groin, hitting the femoral artery.

"It is you who are the dead man as you will bleed out in minutes." Illya said with a coldness in his voice.

Illya scrambled to his feet, continuing to opening in the wall. following a number of prisoners who were scrambling doing the same, escaping through the hole where the gate had once been. Knowing Napoleon and the Doctor had already headed out into the jungle; the Russian pause for a split second, deciding which way to run.

A set of outside stairs leading down from the top of the wall had several guards running down them. Illya tried ducking as they began to shoot but felt a shart pain in his side. As he went down, he grabbed a piece of timber from the destroyed gate. Waiting until they were near enough to reveal himself; he slammed them with the wood like a baseball bat, and sent them tumbling to the ground.

He took their automatic rifles and magazines as he and Solo would need weapons in order to make it out alive through the jungle to their extraction point.

Touching his hand to his side, it came away bloodied, he'd been hit, but there was no time to deal with it right now.

Illya hurried into the jungle, along with a few straggling prisoners, though they ran off in a different direction. He poised, after what he estimated to be a few hundred feet, letting out a whistle.

Hearing the same whistle in response, he knew which direction to head and after jogging for a few minutes, he finally found his partner and Dr. Bloom.

"Here, a present for you," he tossed one of the weapons to Napoleon.

"Let's get going," Napoleon said,"we need to put as much distance as possible between us and the End of the World."

"Wait, where are the others?" Bloom demanded.

"They are running for their lives, just as we should be," Illya said.

"You lied to me, you told me you would help the others escape."

Illya was in pain and that forced his patience to an end and he angrily laced into Evgeny, growling in Russian.

"_Durak! My riskuyem nashimi zhiznyami, chtoby spasti vas...Fool! We risk our lives to save you and you dare call me a liar? There are many who escaped through the gate; I saw it myself. Now enough! We must go."_

Kuryakin staggered.

"Aw Jesus, Illya you're hurt," Napoleon saw the blood and grabbed the Russian, helping to hold him up.

"I must tend to your wound," Evgeny said.

"Nyet, not yet."

Napoleon tried to protest, yet somehow he knew his partner's stoicism would win in the end.

"Please my friend we must go. The patrols will be coming."

Solo refused to argue; Illya needed to be looked at and that was that. He forced the stubborn Russian to sit and tearing away a large portion of his shirt, Napoleon folded up a piece of it to bandage Illya's wound.

"Here Mr. Solo," Bloom said, holding out a bit of cloth containing some dried herbs. "Put this on it, it will help slow the bleeding."

Napoleon tore more of his shirt into strips, tying them together to wrap around Illya's waist to hold the bandage in place. The procedure took but a few minutes, and once completed they headed off into the jungle.

Bloom took the second rifle as Kuryakin was in no shape to carry it as he needed to lean on Solo for support.

In the distance they could now hear the baying of dogs, giving them a greater sense of urgency. They ran as best they could.

The humidity and dampness of the jungle were oppressive, and by this point their meager clothing was soaked with perspiration. The barking seemed closer in spite of their efforts to escape the dogs.

They were all winded but Illya was gasping. He pulled away from Solo.

"_Stoi_… you must leave me. I am slowing you down."

"Oh cut the drama Kuryakin, I'm not leaving you and that's final," Napoleon snapped." When I was in the army we had a motto, 'no man left behind.' I never broke that rule and I don't intend to start now."

"Stubborn American,"Illya coughed as the doctor checked his side.

"The bleeding has stopped for now, though I think he's lost a fair amount of blood. I think he will recover but he needs to rest in order to do that."

Napoleon smiled, forcing his partner to his feet. "Don't we all Doc...hear that chum, you'll be fine, so come on buddy boy. We're almost there."

Solo was only guessing at the distance and direction in which they were heading. Initially his approximation had been based upon the position of the sun, but now the sky was clouding over and little light was shining down through the jungle canopy. He really had no idea how much farther their destination would be.

They were heading for what he hoped was a nearby river and along its wide shore, there they were to be rescued.

A rumble of thunder filled the air, and a drop of water hit Napoleon in the face, then another.

"Damn," he swore. The last thing they needed was rain.

It came down in torrents and though it hindered them, it helped as well.

Solo grabbed a large banana leaf, rolling it into a tube and catching the precious rain water; giving the first drink to Illya who swallowed it greedily.

Evgeny followed suit and when they were all refreshed they continued onwards.

The doctor handed a pinch of herbs to Illya, ordering him to swallow them with more water. The wounded agent seemed to gain back some of his strength after doing so and was able walk unassisted, though he moved slowly.

The rain finally subsided as now only drops of water dripped down from the trees. The animal population returned to life, with a pair of large, brilliant blue macaws appearing from their hiding place, climbing through the branches and sending the remnants nutshells down on the fleeing trio.

The air echoed with a cacophony of sounds...more parrots, monkeys and what could have been the low rumble of a jaguar making it's presence known in the distance.

After the rain, steam rose from the jungle floor, making it more difficult to move, much less breathe. The incessant buzzing of insects, and their stings added to the discomfort.

They continued walking, at a slower pace now as they no longer heard the baying of the dogs.

"Listen," Illya said, slapping a mosquito on his arm before cocking his head to one side. He stood still." Do you hear it?"

"What? The Doctor asked."I only hear screeching parrots."

"It is the sound of rushing water. We must be near the river."

They quickened their pace and as they stepped from the dense underbrush, they came to the clearing they needed beside the wide expanse of the rushing river.

Napoleon rolled up what was remained of his left sleeve, and finding a reddened scar on his inner arm; he pressed his thumb against it.

A homing chip hidden beneath the dermis was activated, and now all they could do was wait, trying to ignore the heat and insects. Solo wasn't sure which was worse, being drenched in sweat or constantly being fed upon by the relentless flying bugs determined to suck the life out of them.

Illya would often declare how unfair it was that his partner seemed to never perspire when they were on assignment in tropical climates, but now Napoleon felt as though he were making up for all those times. How often had he stayed cool as a cucumber while his partner was drenched in sweat? It was hot as hell, and he didn't like perspiring one damn bit.

Annoyed; Solo waved away yet another mosquito buzzing by his his ear.

He tried to imagine a nice hotel room, a bathtub filled with water, and lots of soap suds. Maybe strawberry scented bubble bath, and there'd be a cute maid…no a _French_ maid, delivering fresh towels to him. Mmmm, maybe helping to scrub his back among other things.

He continued to muse, letting those thoughts distract him from their current surroundings for a few blissful moments, though he remained vigilant.

The river,its cool water so tempting and inviting, held other unseen dangers; black caiman, poisonous snakes or even perhaps piranhas lurked there, so better not to take the chance by going near the water's edge.

Napoleon eyes darted back and forth at every sound. He daren't voice his underlying concern that the soldiers from the prison would find them before the cavalry arrived...


	4. Chapter 4

Solo watched as his partner lowered himself to the ground, nearly exhausted.

Immediately, Evgeny lifted Illya's shirt and removed the bandage; applying more of his herbs to the wound.

His worry was that it would begin to fester as the dampness of the rainforest was not exactly conducive to healing. On top of that, he wasn't sure there was a bullet fragment in there but he was in no position to probe for it; that would only make the agent's condition worse in the long run.

The doctor walked off in search of another banana leaf filled with water, and when he returned with it, he sprinkled in more of his herbal concoctions.

"Here, _Peyte etot moy drug_..._drink this my friend._ It will help you relax.

Kuryakin gave no argument and swallowed the water. He closed his eyes, falling into a much needed sleep.

"Rest is the best thing for him," Evgeny said to Solo.

"How long will he be out?"

"As long as he needs. It was no sleeping draught I gave him, but a placebo. In his weakened state, his mind let him believe what I told him, the suggestion made him relax enough to fall asleep. Though given his condition that wasn't hard."

Napoleon was dog tired himself, and sitting down beside his partner he remained on guard. Keeping a watchful eye on the jungle's edge; he held his rifle ready though his body ached to sleep as well. His eyelids grew heavy, but he jerked himself to awareness several times.

He yawned, fighting to keep himself alert. He thought about getting to Sao Paulo where first he'd have a cooling bath and nice soft bed all to himself. He began to feel impatient, even restless. Sitting was doing him no good as it took him too close to falling asleep.

Pacing back and forth, he listen intently to the sounds of the jungle and anything to indicate rescue was at hand.

Not having a watch; he had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but then something caught his attention.

In the distance he heard the distinctive slapping of rotor blades. There was no mistaking the whop-whop-whopping of a Huey helicopter. It was the sound of rescue, the sound of going home and instantly Solo's spirits were lifted.

Grinning; he put a hand to Illya's shoulder, startling him to awareness. "Come on buddy boy, our ride's here."

Helping Kuryakin to his feet; Napoleon waved his rifle in the air, signalling to the chopper.

The three fugitives stepped back as the helicopter performed its landing maneuvers, gently setting down beside the river, and a familiar man hopped down to greet them.

"Oy, heard you lads were in need of a lift," Mark Slate shouted over the sounds of the slowly turning rotor blades.

"Are we happy to see you Mark," Napoleon called out, while he and the doctor steadied the Russian.

"Do you have a first aide kit?" Bloom asked.

"Yes sir, right in the back," Mark nodded, helping them all to board. Once everyone was settled, Slate sat down in the co-pilots seat. "All right gents, hang on."

The Bell-Huey took off and there was that momentary feeling of downward pressure as they rose. Not all of them had headphones, so it was noisy as hell but worth it as they were heading to civilization. Evgeny handed out some cotton balls from the first aid kit for them to stuff in their ears. He double checked his patient and changied Illya's bandages to clean gauze and tape, though contiuing to use his herbal poultice.

Though the chopper vibrated, he pilot was maintaining a low altitude so there was little excess turbulence to deal with.

The chopper had been stripped down, with little armament. The .50 caliber machine gun typically found on a Huey was missing, however there was a pair of side mounted rocket launchers, each capable of firing a number folding-fin rockets.

Noticing that, Kuryakin called to Mark and the pilot.

"Can you head west. We need to go back to the prison."

"What for mate?" Mark asked.

"You'll see," Illya smiled.

It took but a few minutes to reach what had taken the trio hours to escape, and as the helicopter hovered over the prison. Some of the guards began firing at it, but the Huey was out of range.

"Mark that wall there,"Solo pointed."Target a rocket directly at that."

"Are you sure guv? That wasn't part of the assignment."

"No, but there's a lot of people still in that place whom I'm sure weren't able to get out. Let's give them a second chance."

"Righto," Mark grinned. "I can take out the towers too if you like."

"Please do," Illya called out.

The rockets were fired with deadly accuracy, and the occupants of the Huey watched the chaos as more of the prisoners escaped through the smoke and rubble into the jungle, seemingly unimpeded by any of the remaining guards.

Illya turned to Evgeny. "See, we kept our word."

"_Spacibo tovarisch,_" the doctor smiled.

The helicopter made a sharp turn, finally taking them back to Sao Paolo and civilization.

There, Illya would have proper medical treatment and they would at last return to New York. Though Doctor Bloom would remain in Sao Paolo, where under the protection of U.N.C.L.E. he would safely continue his research.

The next day, Napoleon was seated at his partner's bedside in the small medical wing of UNCLE Sao Paulo. Dr. Bloom along with the staff physician removed the bullet fragment in Illya's side and he was now healing nicely.

"All's right with the world again," Napoleon smiled. He was cool, clean and had a good nights rest in that hotel bed, as medical had cleared him.

"Yes I suppose you could say that," the patient answered.

Illya, wiped his mouth with his napkin as he'd just finished eating; wolfing down his order of _Virado à paulista, _a typical Brazilian dish prepared with beans, onion and garlic. accompanied by sausage, fried eggs, cabbage, crackling and rib pork. Enough to satisfy one hungry Russian, or so Solo thought.

"What do you mean? We completed our mission and lived to tell the tale didn't we chum?"

"Oh, sorry. I was referring to the food not the assignment."

"Huh?"

"I am still hungry…"

Napoleon laughed, slapping his leg, though in truth he knew Illya was very underweight.

"You'll never change will you?"

"I hope not,"Kuryakin smiled."Now could you please see if I can get another portion? I really am still hungry."

"Sure partner mine, the least I can do," Solo chuckled as he rang the nurse. Yes, all was right with the world...for now.

The familiar warble of a communicator interrupted that thought.

"Solo here."

"Good afternoon Mr. Solo. I've been waiting for your follow up report," Alexander Waverly harumphed.

"Sorry sir I was just about to contact you when... ummm, Mr. Kuryakin woke up." Though it was a bold-faced lie, Waverly seemingly bought it. Napoleon mouthed to the nurse as she came in to bring more food for the ravenous Russian.

"Indeed. Yes. I take it you are with Mr. Kuryakin now?"

"Yes sir. I've been informed that he'll making a complete recovery and will be ready to travel in a day or so."

"Excellent. I have a small assignment for you both to take care of before your return to New York, that is if Mr. Kuryaking is up to the task?"

Napoleon rolled his eyes.

"Yes sir, I am fine," Illya called out. "What is the assignment?"

"It seems in your facilitating the escape of so many prisoners from '_El fin del mundo', _some of whom were political prisoners, they somehow managed to enact a coup against Generalissimo Machado. Your new assignment is to personally escort the deposed General here to New York where you will hand him over to the United Nations Security Council, who will handle his disposition, as it were. Sadly though, I suspect he will be granted asylum in a sympathetic country."

Napoleon shook his head, not happy with that pronouncement, but bit his tongue instead of commenting.

"Mr. Solo are you there?"

"Yes, umm, sorry sir."

"You'll take custody of Machado as soon as Mr. Kuryakin is discharged. Waverly out."

"Well how about that. Just peachy."

Disappointment at not heading home to a cooler climate showed in his face as Solo didn't exactly relish the idea of remaining in the tropics longer than necessary.

"Hey buddy boy, you need heal faster so we can get this assignment over and done with. You can make up for lost time eating when we get home, and the sooner the better. Tell you what, I'll treat you to a nice steak and lobster at Delmonico's when we get back to New York."

"Mmmm, "Illya nodded. That's all he could manage since his mouth was filled with more food, as a nurse had brought his second helping of _Virado à paulista_ and he was already digging in.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day Kuryakin had managed to get himself an early discharge from his medical bed, insisting he was fine and ready to travel.

His outbursts and tantrums had planted fear in the hearts of the nursing staff, so much so that none of them wanted to go into his room. Only a brave few did so when accompanied by an orderly, usually a big one, who was there to **defend** them if need be.

Better that than to risk having a tray of food or a bed pan flung at them.

Illya wasn't in perfect condition and definitly not for field work. Rather than let the mad Russian continue to terrorize the staff, they reluctantly released him to Napoleon's supervision. However, the doctors had no idea Illya was already scheduled for an assignment with his partner.

Doctor Vilar, the head physician, pulled Solo aside.

"His wound is not completely healed by any means and any strenuous activity may cause some bleeding. Take these gauze bandages just in case, as it might ooze some fluids, and here's his antibiotics. Please make sure he takes them, as I know of you Section twos and your aversions to pills. Once you are in New York, he's to immediately report to Doctor Schneider for a recheck. Your partner has received transfusions so...well, anyway, I would hate to see him take any steps backward in his recovery. Mr. Kuryakin is very strong, but he's not invincible."

"I understand Doc and thank you," Napoleon tucked the bottle of pills in his jacket pocket and headed to his partner's room.

Illya was finished dressing, not wearing his usual black clothing but something more appropriate to the Brazillian climate, tan pants, and a dark brown polo shirt that he didn't bother tucking into his trousers. Over that he slipped into a light sports jacket. However, the boots on his feet were the same ones worn throughout their last assignment. The clothing hung loosely on the Russian as he had lost a fair amount of weight. Napoleon had too, but it wasn't as noticeable on him.

"You know you could wear a new pair of shoes buddy boy," Napoleon commented.

"There is nothing wrong with these and they are nicely broken in at this point."

"Except for the fact that they look like crap," Napoleon snickered.

"I suppose I could wash them a bit, perhaps a bit of polish to neaten them. I will do so once we are at the hotel."

They took a cab to the Hotel Emile located in São Paulo's central Jardins district, an upscale place by any means, and one whose presence was rarely graced by UNCLE agents, thanks to accounting.

But somehow those rules were rescinded, and Napoleon had been staying there, thanks to Waverly's approval.

As they entered the ornate hotel lobby, with it's highly polished marble floors and staircase, Illya passed a remark, one that he'd uttered once before but Napoleon had forgotten about it.

"Reminds me of home," Illya said.

"Wait, I thought your family lived in a dacha outside of Kiev?"

"They did, but I am referring to the school I attended in Moskva. It had once belonged of a member of the aristocracy and had been subdivided to house and school hundreds of orphans...though it was rundown. Still, marble retains that cold temperature throughout the year.

Illya reached out, placing his palm to the wall as they stood by the elevator. "Feel how cool it is to the touch. Ideal I suppose, given the awful temperatures here."

Napoleon followed suit, feeling the ice cold stone beneath his hand and was somewhat amazed at the things his partner observed.

Granted Napoleon knew of the characteristic of marble to maintain a cool temperature; he just never really thought about it.

The doors finally opened, and the elevator operator greeted them with a nod.

"Third floor señhors?"

"_Sim, obrigado_yes thank you_," Napoleon replied. He at least knew the niceties in Portuguese, similar to but still different from Spanish.

The agents exited upon reaching their floor, with Solo leading the way. He unlocked the door, pulling his Special as he double checked for intruders. Even though he'd used the old match in the door trick and it was right where he'd put it; that didn't mean it was safe to lower one's guard.

Once he deemed it was all clear, Illya locked the door behind them but not before he put out the 'do not disturb' sign. He stood, surveying what he'd expected to be a bedroom but instead discovered it was a grand suite.

There was a bar, a sitting area with comfortable chairs and a sofa, and a dining table as well.

"Rather bourgeois. How did you manage this on our usual expense account budget?" Illya asked.

Napoleon called from the bathroom "Waverly had pity on us...we did just go through hell for what, eight weeks in that prison? Not to mention you're still recuperating. A little comfort time was in order, or so he said."

"Wait, I thought we had an assignment to tend to?"

"We do, but since you managed your early release from your hospital bed, and the Old Man knowing your proclivity for doing so, told me to keep you here for before we proceed with picking up the Generalissimo, and escorting him to New York."

Illya shook his head. "I guess I am becoming a bit predictable."

"Sometimes, though that information is privy to but a few," Napoleon winked. Solo followed his partner into the bedroom, and watched the man gingerly lower himself onto one of the two full sized beds.

Not that it mattered but it was the one in which Solo had been sleeping. The bed linens had been changed and the bedding freshened up by housekeeping.

"You'll find pajamas, underwear, a change of clothes and socks in the dresser. There's a suit, dress shirt and tie hanging in the closet along with a pair of shoes...the kind you like. There's even a pair of **silver** cufflinks for you...the exploding kind, by the way."

"Just what a girl wants, but where are the flowers and candy?" Illya fluttered his eyes.

"Smart ass."

Watching Kuryakin practically sink into the soft mattress as he flopped backwards; Napoleon laughed out loud.

"Hmm, bourgeois isn't so bad is it?"

"I will not dignify that with an answer."


	6. Chapter 6

The next day Kuryakin had managed to get himself an early discharge from his medical bed, insisting he was fine and ready to travel.

His outbursts and tantrums had planted fear in the hearts of the nursing staff, so much so that none of them wanted to go into his room. Only a brave few did so when accompanied by an orderly, usually a big one, who was there to **defend** them if need be.

Better that than to risk having a tray of food or a bed pan flung at them.

Illya wasn't in perfect condition and definitly not for field work. Rather than let the mad Russian continue to terrorize the staff, they reluctantly released him to Napoleon's supervision. However, the doctors had no idea Illya was already scheduled for an assignment with his partner.

Doctor Vilar, the head physician, pulled Solo aside.

"His wound is not completely healed by any means and any strenuous activity may cause some bleeding. Take these gauze bandages just in case, as it might ooze some fluids, and here's his antibiotics. Please make sure he takes them, as I know of you Section twos and your aversions to pills. Once you are in New York, he's to immediately report to Doctor Schneider for a recheck. Your partner has received transfusions so...well, anyway, I would hate to see him take any steps backward in his recovery. Mr. Kuryakin is very strong, but he's not invincible."

"I understand Doc and thank you," Napoleon tucked the bottle of pills in his jacket pocket and headed to his partner's room.

Illya was finished dressing, not wearing his usual black clothing but something more appropriate to the Brazillian climate, tan pants, and a dark brown polo shirt that he didn't bother tucking into his trousers. Over that he slipped into a light sports jacket. However, the boots on his feet were the same ones worn throughout their last assignment. The clothing hung loosely on the Russian as he had lost a fair amount of weight. Napoleon had too, but it wasn't as noticeable on him.

"You know you could wear a new pair of shoes buddy boy," Napoleon commented.

"There is nothing wrong with these and they are nicely broken in at this point."

"Except for the fact that they look like crap," Napoleon snickered.

"I suppose I could wash them a bit, perhaps a bit of polish to neaten them. I will do so once we are at the hotel."

They took a cab to the Hotel Emile located in São Paulo's central Jardins district, an upscale place by any means, and one whose presence was rarely graced by UNCLE agents, thanks to accounting.

But somehow those rules were rescinded, and Napoleon had been staying there, thanks to Waverly's approval.

As they entered the ornate hotel lobby, with it's highly polished marble floors and staircase, Illya passed a remark, one that he'd uttered once before but Napoleon had forgotten about it.

"Reminds me of home," Illya said.

"Wait, I thought your family lived in a dacha outside of Kiev?"

"They did, but I am referring to the school I attended in Moskva. It had once belonged of a member of the aristocracy and had been subdivided to house and school hundreds of orphans...though it was rundown. Still, marble retains that cold temperature throughout the year.

Illya reached out, placing his palm to the wall as they stood by the elevator. "Feel how cool it is to the touch. Ideal I suppose, given the awful temperatures here."

Napoleon followed suit, feeling the ice cold stone beneath his hand and was somewhat amazed at the things his partner observed.

Granted Napoleon knew of the characteristic of marble to maintain a cool temperature; he just never really thought about it.

The doors finally opened, and the elevator operator greeted them with a nod.

"Third floor señhors?"

"_Sim, obrigado_yes thank you_," Napoleon replied. He at least knew the niceties in Portuguese, similar to but still different from Spanish.

The agents exited upon reaching their floor, with Solo leading the way. He unlocked the door, pulling his Special as he double checked for intruders. Even though he'd used the old match in the door trick and it was right where he'd put it; that didn't mean it was safe to lower one's guard.

Once he deemed it was all clear, Illya locked the door behind them but not before he put out the 'do not disturb' sign. He stood, surveying what he'd expected to be a bedroom but instead discovered it was a grand suite.

There was a bar, a sitting area with comfortable chairs and a sofa, and a dining table as well.

"Rather bourgeois. How did you manage this on our usual expense account budget?" Illya asked.

Napoleon called from the bathroom "Waverly had pity on us...we did just go through hell for what, eight weeks in that prison? Not to mention you're still recuperating. A little comfort time was in order, or so he said."

"Wait, I thought we had an assignment to tend to?"

"We do, but since you managed your early release from your hospital bed, and the Old Man knowing your proclivity for doing so, told me to keep you here for before we proceed with picking up the Generalissimo, and escorting him to New York."

Illya shook his head. "I guess I am becoming a bit predictable."

"Sometimes, though that information is privy to but a few," Napoleon winked. Solo followed his partner into the bedroom, and watched the man gingerly lower himself onto one of the two full sized beds.

Not that it mattered but it was the one in which Solo had been sleeping. The bed linens had been changed and the bedding freshened up by housekeeping.

"You'll find pajamas, underwear, a change of clothes and socks in the dresser. There's a suit, dress shirt and tie hanging in the closet along with a pair of shoes...the kind you like. There's even a pair of **silver** cufflinks for you...the exploding kind, by the way."

"Just what a girl wants, but where are the flowers and candy?" Illya fluttered his eyes.

"Smart ass."

Watching Kuryakin practically sink into the soft mattress as he flopped backwards; Napoleon laughed out loud.

"Hmm, bourgeois isn't so bad is it?"

"I will not dignify that with an answer."


	7. Chapter 7

Now, when do we eat?" Kuryakin asked, sitting up on the bed." I am famished, though the food given to me while in Medical was more than palitable, my hunger has not been assuaged. I am happy to say at least while hospitalized, they did not give me lime jello."

"Really, none of the green stuff?"

"No it was lemon, which was not that bad...I must admit."

Napoleon picked up a pitcher of water on the dresser top. He poured a glass of water and bringing it over to his partner; he pulled the bottle of meds from his pocket.

"Pill time tovarisch, and please don't give me a hard time. They're antibiotics, and if you don't take them, you'll get an infection and end up back in a hospital bed.

Kuryakin held out his hand, taking the pill with a sip of water,

"Did you really swallow it?"

"Napoleon…"

"Hey, just checking. I know you."

"And I know you as well," the Russian chuckled. He skooched himself up on the bed, burying his head on the pillow. "Please tell me we will not be having any female visitors?"

"You'll be pleased to know there haven't been any and won't be. I'm pretty beat too you know."

Illya didn't answer as he was already asleep.

"So much for room service," Napoleon smiled. He removed his tie and jacket, hanging them up on the valet and retreated to the sitting room.

Flopping down on the plush sofa; he pulled his communicator.

"Open Channel D-overseas relay. Waverly."

"Yes Mr. Solo?"

"We've arrived at the hotel sir. Illya...Mr. Kuryakin is already asleep and I'm happy to report he took his medicine without incident."

"Very well," Waverly hesitated." I'm sorry to say that I must move your departure date up by one day. The U.N. Security Council is meeting as we speak and is discussing the disposition of General Machado. It looks as though he will be given asylum in Cuba. Sadly, no repercussions for his misdeeds...still we must take satisfaction in the fact that your and Mr. Kuryakin's actions started the ball rolling for him being deposed."

"Yes sir. So will we'll still be returning the General to New York?"

"No, you'll be bringing him to Cuba instead."

Napoleon was surprised by that. "And the hand off?"

"Is to take place at Guantanamo. The Americans have obliged us by offering the use of the base. You'll be taking a private jet to Caracas, and there switch to a different jet that will be flying with United Nations credentials, and from there in Venezuela you'll head to Gitmo."

"Things are a bit dicey there still, what...the missile crisis was only a year ago?"

"Precisely, and that is why you will be identified as being with the United Nations. It is deemed safer to land on the American base as the situation with Cuba's airport is somewhat and antiquated. Given the trade U.S. embargo has been in effect for two years now, the Cubans have been forced to repair and recycle any necessary parts. It seems their Communist compatriots are slow at delivering such things."

"Yes sir I understand. Solo out."

Not giving the change of plans a further thought, Napoleon ordered room service, deciding to keep the meal simple but enough to satisfy the Russian's hunger.

He had to admit, he was a little hungry himself. A nice bottle of wine Brazilian wine would do for him, nothing alcoholic for Illya, though he knew his partner wouldn't be happy about that.

He went to a full-length mirror hung on the bathroom door, standing and gazing at his profile. Napoleon turned, patting his stomach with his hand, and pulling his shirt tight. He was too thin, though not like Illya. He always watched his weight, and this was the first time in his life he needed to gain instead of lose. Enough booze and desserts would take care of that.

The food arrived and after tipping the bellboy, Solo locked the door and took a quick peek under the lid of the steam tray He'd ordered _Galinhada Mineira,_ a stew made with chicken, saffron rice and vegetables. Beneath another covered dish was dessert, _Pudim de Leite Condensado_..._Brazilian flan,_ the slices sprinkled with shredded coconus a melted caramel sauce and garnished with mango. That, would definietly please the Russian's sweet tooth.

He'd asked for extra portions, knowing Illya should have something hearty and as much as he wanted, as he'd lost too much weight and needed to gain it back. Even the way Kuryakin ate, that wouldn't happen overnight.

Napoleon hated like hell waking his partner, but figured his eating was the best thing. Illya would have the next few days to sleep to his hearts content in that comfortable bed. He was surprised the enticeing scent filling the suite hadn't awakened his sleeping partner already.

"Hey _tovarisch_, time to wake up. Dinner's here."

Illya raised his head, looking rather groggy and not himself. Normally the Russian when called would be instantly awake.

"Mmmmm," he managed to grunt.

"You okay chum?" Though something didn't seem right, as his partner's face looked a little swollen.

"I am fine."Illya slowly raised himself up from the pillow. He looked down seeing his clothes were now a rumpled mess from sleeping in them but didn't even remember doing that, going to sleep fully dressed. He rubbed his eyes, finding them watery and itching.

"Why don't you go wash up. There's a robe in the bathroom for you. Give me your clothes and I can have room service clean and press them for you."

Illya slowly nodded."What was that medicine you gave me?"

"Only your antibiotics, why?"

"I feel so groggy as if I have taken a sleeping pill. Something is wrong."

Napoleon picked up the bottle from the dresser, double-checking the label. "Nope, it says...oh shit. Illya this says penicillin."

"I am allergic…

"I know chum." Napoleon immediately pulled his communicator, contacting Doctor Vilar.

"That's impossible, I did not prescribe penicillin as Mr. Kuryakin's records indicated his allergy, though he doesn't have severe reactions to it. What are his symptoms?

"His face is swollen, his eyes are itching and tearing….Illya anything else wrong?"

"Mr. Solo his breathing, how is it? I am concerned with tightening of the airways and throat. Any vomiting, how's his pulse?" The doctor rattled off a list of possible reactions.

"Tovarisch, can you breathe okay? Any wheezing. You feel dizzy at all?" He took Illya's wrist, checking his pulse.

"Napoleon, tell Doctor Vilar I will be fine. It is just a minor reaction, and nothing to worry over." Illya knew If he'd taken any additional doses, that wouldn't have been the case.

Solo's head bobbed back and forth, listening and speaking to his partner and talking to Vilar via the communicator.

"Perhaps you should bring him in," the doctor said.

"Nyet," Illya waved his hand." I will be fine. Can we get an antihistamine for me to take?That is what is usually prescribed."

Vilar upon hearing this felt reassured knowing the Russian had dealt with his allergic reactions before.

"Mr. Kuryakin, my profound apologies for the mix up with your medication. I will send someone over immediately with the antihistamine as well as the correct antibiotics. Rest assured I will find who is responsible for this and have them dealt with."

"Fine doctor, do what you must."

A nurse quickly arrived arrived at the hotel, and after administering the antihistamine, she waited, checking his vitals. He blood pressure was all right, and the puffiness in his face and eyes was improving. She listened to his heart with a stethoscope, though it was cold to the touch and made him flinch. The last thing she did was check his dressing.

"You were lucky sehhor," she smiled."Doctor Vilar told me that there was a new pharmacist's assistant who mixed up the medicine bottles. Someone else was given your pills."

"I hope they did not have a reaction as I did?"

"No, only you Senhor Kuryakin," the pretty brunette smiled at him."

"Umm, Nurse Sabela," Napoleon looked at her name badge."Might I invite to dine with us. The _Galinhada Mineira_, is still hot and there's extra portions." He flashed a charming smile to her.

"No thank you Senhor Solo, though your offer is tempting...I have been forewarned about you," the pretty brunette smiled back at him, packing up the medical bag she'd brought with her. Sabela said her goodbyes, and Illya saw her to the door.

He turned, shaking his head ready to chastise his partner but after raising a pointed finger, he stopped. What was the point in saying anything?

Napoleon knew what he was going to say. "Hey, I was just being polite, no strings attached. Didn't I tell you there wouldn't be any women? It wasn't my fault medical sent an attractive nurse."

Feeling much better, Illya chuckled as he walked over to the serving tray and filled his bowl with the steaming hot the stew. Sitting down at the table, he suddenly looked longingly to the bar.

"Oh no buddy boy, no vodka for you. You just averted a second medical issue, let's not create another?" Napoleon poured a glass of fruit juice for his partner, and ladeling out a bowl of stew, he joined Illya at the table.

Sipping his wine slowly, Napoleon savored the rich flavor. It was stronger than he thought it would be but still was very satisfying.

The two men were silent while enjoying their meal, other than uttering a yummy sound now and then. Napoleon filled his empty wine glass, emptied it and filled it again and was beginning to feel warm and fuzzy, figuring what the heck.

"You know Illya I was scared out there in the jungle."

"You were? Why?" That nonchalant question was so typical of Kuryakin.

The Russian was surprised at his partner's candor; the man wasn't one for sharing such personal thoughts. Normally Napoleon was confident and always optimistic even under the worst of circumstances.

Though he'd seen Napoleon drunk on occasion, it was usually under the influence of scotch, but not wine. Given his partner had a somewhat drastic weight loss; perhaps the way his body metabolised alcohol had changed?

"I was afraid you were going to die on me."

Illya was taken aback by that statement."But did not Dr. Bloom assure you I would live?"

He looked at up at the mural painted on the wall behind the bar, musing to himself at the apropo latin phrase, '_in vino veritas'_..though he preferred the Russian version, '_Chto u trezvogo na ume, to u p'yanogo na yazyke___what a sober man has in his mind, the drunk one has on his tongue.' _

"At the time, listening to a man who had a bag of dried up leaves and weeds wrapped in rags as his medical kit didn't exactly fill me with a sense of confidence," Solo answered frankly.

"Really?" Illya asked, hoping it would keep his partner talking, well that and the wine.

Napoleon shrugged.

"And what if I had died?"

"I would have been devastated."

"And after that? After I was no more."

"Well, life would have gone on I guess, though I wouldn't want another partner."

"Good," Illya smiled," I mean that life would go on. Though we are the best of friends, and will mourn each others passing, we still have a job to do. I would hope that is what you would do; continue to fight for the cause of peace and justice in the world."

"So you're happy I wouldn't be pining away for you partner mine?"

"Yes. Life is fleeting and we have a precarious existence you and I; death comes knocking on our door and we can only outwit him so much. Still we must be prepared that In the end we will both die. I am sure your preference like mine, is to live past retirement age to grow old and fat.."

"Amen to that tovarisch, except maybe not fat. I plan to grow old and be surrounded by gorgeous women," Napoleon offered up his glass, and Illya his and they chinked them together.

"To another day my friend, and may we live to see it. Me getting fat and you getting laid," Illya toasted with a grin.

"So," Napoleon switched subjects," Speaking of the future, we've had another change of plans for our assignment."

Illya shook his head, indicating for Solo to continue as he wasn't about to speak with a mouthful of food.

"We're escorting the General to Cuba."

Kuryakin swallowed hard."Where in Cuba?"

"Guantanamo."

Illya nodded his approval. " We will not have to take him to New York then; the less distance we have to travel with him, the less likely we will run into trouble."

"Hey from your mouth to God's ears old pal…"


	8. Chapter 8

After breakfast the trio of agents headed via taxi to April's hotel to retrieve her suitcase and from there they proceeded in an armored Mercedes issued from the U.N.C.L.E. motor pool to the Palace of the Champs Elysées, the official residence of the governor. Located in the district of Santa Cecilia in the central region of São Paulo; the palace also held the Houses of both Civil and Military government.

The Champs Elysées formerly belonged to the aristocratic and political activist Elias Antonio Pacheco e Chaves located in what was called old mall of Bamboos, but was now known as Rio Branco Avenue.

There they'd be taking custody the General, keeping the hand off as discreet as possible. The political scene in Brazil was shaky, with the military taking on more and more power.

Seemingly, Machado being taken out of the picture simply removed one more player on the chessboard vying for ultimate power. Solo and Kuryakin inadvertently did the key chess masters a favor and nothing more than that.

The deed meant more to the men freed from that wretched prison, but where they took things from here remained to be seen.

Napoleon, Illya and April exited the Mercedes In a secure garage, standing beside the black sedan as they listened to the clicking of footsteps that echoed off concrete surrounding them.

A small armed military escort appeared with Machado who was wearing shackles on his wrists and ankles.

Never having seen the General in person, Napoleon was impressed by his appearance.

The man was no longer dressed in the ornate white military uniform he was known to sport; instead he was wearing a well tailored three piece tan suit and a stylish gold striped silk tie. He was perhaps in his fifties, with a full head of black hair. He was well groomed, with a thick moustache, and a had strong protruding chin.

The General stood with his shoulder erect, a proud and confident man, in spite of his circumstances.

There was one thing however, that stood more than anything to Solo. Though the man was of Portuguese origins, his eyes were blue.

"A piercing bright blue like Kuryakin's eyes, cold...dare he think," Napoleon observed," more than the Russian's? That was a neat trick."

"Senhor Solo?" The officer commanding the guards stepped forward, giving a crisp salute.

"I am Captain De Santiago, and on behalf of my government I would like to thank you and U.N.C.L.E. for freeing the prisoners at _El fin del mundo." _

This is my partner Mr. Kuryakin and this is Miss Dancer. We will be the escort for General Machado."

"It is an honor to meet you. Your actions Mr. Solo and that of your partner," the man nodded to Illya," were the catalyst for deposing the Generalissimo and freeing the territory from his dictatorial rule."

"It was an unexpected outcome, but happy to have been of service, Captain," Napoleon acknowledged, though his reply was indeed a half truth.

"The keys," De Santiago held them out." Good luck Senhors and Senhorita. I am surprised your organization has sent but three of you and one being...well, let us say we are not accustomed to a woman in such a role."

"Miss Dancer is more than capable as are all UNCLE operatives," Napoleon interjected, but refrained from taking a defensive tone. Still his caveat achieved the desired results with De Santiago.

"I beg your pardon; I meant no insult. You must understand that I am a military man and am accustomed to using men and in greater number to achieve an objective."

"Understandable, now if you'll excuse us Captain, we have a plane to catch.

"Are you sure we cannot offer you a military escort to the airport Senhor Solo?"

"_Não, obrigado Coronel. Discression é o nosso melhor aliado no momento_no thank you Colonel,_"Illya interrupted, speaking Portuguese."_Discretion is our best ally at the moment."_

"Then I will you bid you farewell and _boa sorte,_" Colonel De Santiago wished them luck and saluted; clicking his heels.

General Machado, still wearing his iron bracelets and leggings was carefully seen to the back of the sedan, with Solo seated beside him. April rode shotgun while Illya slipped into the driver's seat.

The black Mercedes eased from the secure underground garage into traffic onto the main road, the Avenida Rio Branco.

The sedan blended in with traffic, and the dark tinted windows protected them from prying eyes as they headed to Viracopos International Airport. The drive there would be a direct one, using a major route, but would take well over an hour and that was with favorable traffic.

The General finally broke the silence, looking directly at Solo. His accent was rather thick but his English was excellent.

"So I get to see face to face the brigands who caused my downfall."

Napoleon clicked his tongue, not really caring to make conversation.

"Tsk, that would seem to be the case."

The General in turn clicked his tongue.

Solo's instincts sensed a threat was about to be made.

"Then you should watch your back Senhors. I may not be in power at the moment, but that does not mean my supporters are not out there. I will be freed, whether it is here or…."he paused, changing his mind. "It does not matter.

"One word from me and your lives will be snuffed like that," he snapped his fingers. "My apologies to the senhorita for speaking so crudely, as I know she had no hand in this."

"Oh how kind of you General, but that doesn't mean I won't have a hand in shooting you should anything happen to my companions here."

"Oh the kitten has the claws of the jaguar," Machado laughed. "Perhaps I will keep you around for my amusement."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you think you will actually make it to Cuba? I assure you I will not be leaving South America any time soon."

"_Brag tudo o que você deseja Geral. Você estará indo para Cuba, vivo ou morto_brag all you want General. You will be going to Cuba, alive or dead," _Illya chimed in, reverting to Portuguese.

"Ah... the Russian speaks at last. So typical of you Soviets to threaten. You are like the proverbial bull in the china shop, no finesse whatsoever. I am not afraid of your taunts Senhor Kuryakin. I know for a fact that your Waverly frowns upon the killing of those in your care."

"Ah but as you said, Senhor Machado, I am a Soviet and in your case I will defer to the ways of my country when it comes to you."

"That is General. I am Generalissimo Edmundo Cristóväo Bonifácio Henriques Machado. I earned my title and you will show it respect."

"And I am King of all the Russias," Illya snickered. "Your title, and you mean nothing to me..._senhor._"

"We will see about that '_Russo_…" he called Illya a Russian in Portuguese."And your puny threats mean nothing to me."

Though attempts at intimidation rarely fazed Kuryakin, something about Machado's demeanor actually unsettled him. The fact that Machado knew their destination was a bit disconcerting, so his threats might just be plausible. His braggadocio, or perhaps bravado were disturbing counterpoints to the depravity and disregard for human life at '_El fin del mundo; _no doubt acted upon at the General's behest.

That was a Spanish name for the prison, and Illya wondered, "How old was it before the Gen..Machado," he mentally corrected himself,"took possession of it?" However, finding out the answer to that question would have to wait until after they returned to New York. It was merely a bit of obscure knowledge, but the Russian liked those sorts of things.

Kuryakin suddenly coughed, feeling a sharp pain in his side as his wound was still quite sensitive. He held his hand there pressing against it as he coughed again.

"You all right Illya?" April whispered.

"It is nothing, I am fine."

She glanced back at Napoleon, seeing a look of concern in his eyes as well; both of them thinking Illya taking on this assignment was not such a good idea after all, but try arguing that point with a stubborn Russian, or Waverly for that matter.


	9. Chapter 9

They arrived at the airport without incident, and Illya was able to drive directly to the private jet that awaited them rather than ferrying Machado through the terminal.

Kuryakin had already gotten out of the car, going to the boot, and opened up a silver briefcase. There the accoutrements to convert his Special to a carbine awaited him and he quickly constructed the weapon.

He stood, completing his task as a hot wind blew his blond hair. Taking a handkerchief from his suit pocket; he wiped his brow as he'd begin to perspire. His side was hurting, more than he wanted to admit.

Illya was convinced that once he'd gotten out of this humid climate and back to the fall weather in New York, he'd feel much better.

As the deposed dictator stepped from the back seat of the Mercedes, he looked at the steps leading up to the open door of the jet.

"Those would be easier to navigate if you removed my ankle chains Senhor Solo."

"We'll see, General," he replied.

April immediately boarded, her weapon drawn, looking about. There was a sofa style bench opposite the door and to her right there were large comfortable seats on either side of the plane, enough to seat at least eight passengers if needed. She reached out, touching the upholstery.

"Nice...leather," she whispered.

"Oh!" A startled woman stopped in her tracks as she stepped out from the small galley in the rear of the plane. She wasn't exactly expecting someone with a gun to be staring her in the face.

"And you are?" The agent questioned her, aiming her pistol straight at the woman.

"I'm the stewardess Miss Dancer. My name is Sylvia Henriques, Sao Paulo office." She was petite, with dark hair done up in twist on top of her head, wearing a crisp white blouse and a tight black skirt.

"Pleasure to meet you," April shook her hand before proceeding to the cockpit, thinking that one would no doubt catch Napoleon's attention.

Sylvia was nicely built and had very expressive eyes and those pouting red lips of hers would make any girl jealous. Dancer chuckled to herself, no she wasn't jealous...or was she? This wasn't the time or the place for that.

She poked her head through the curtains, checking out the pilot and co-pilot.

"Hi boys, we ready to get going?"

"Hello Miss Dancer. I'm Captain Carroll and this is Lieutenant Gibbs. We'll be sure to get you to Caracas on time as soon as you are all on board and settled in."

"Thank you."

She smiled to herself, finding the one named Gibbs kind of cute.

"Keep your mind on the mission girl," she warned herself. Though she rationalized that Napoleon would no doubt be eyeing Sylvia, so why couldn't she have fun doing the same with Gibbs?

April returned to exit, giving the others the all clear; watching as Solo put a key to Machado's leggings and removed them. She stayed put while the prisoner entered the cabin, followed by Kuryakin who had his carbine aimed directly at the man's back.

Napoleon, not wanting his partner to carry anything, brought their luggage from the car; stowing what little there was in the cargo hold. He proceeded up the steps, and closing the door behind him; he locked it and surveyed the interior of the plane.

"Nice," he nodded his approval.

"Can I get you anything before take off Mr. Solo," Henriques smiled.

"Hmm, nicer," he smiled back at her. "Nothing right now thank you Miss…"

Old habits die hard and he looked her up and down, guessing she was a 36-24-34… Her blouse fit in all the right places with the top buttons open, showing just a hint of cleavage and her tight pencil skirt outlined her derriere quite nicely. Here eyes were almond shaped, and exotic and surprisingly blue. Oh yeah...

His stare wasn't lost on her. "My name is Sylvia, but you can call me anything you want, handsome."

Napoleon caught his partner and Dancer both rolling their eyes.

"I think I'll just stick with Sylvia for now." Solo crinkled his nose, flirting back with her just a little bit.

He turned his attention to Machado, making sure he was secure in his seat. Napoleon pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket as secured the chains the General was still wearing to the arm of his seat.

After everyone was set, the stewardess picked up a microphone, giving the pilot the all clear. The jet slowly taxied out to take its position in the queue, preparing for its turn.

"_Tower, this is Bravo Tango Niner-7. We are ready for take off." _The Captain radioed their status.

"_You have permission Bravo Tango Niner-7 on runway three. Que tengas un buen vuelo_have a good flight."_

"Roger that tower".

The jet moved to the runway, picking up speed as Captain Carroll increased the forward thrust and when it reached the proper velocity, he raised the aircraft's nose, bringing it airborn in seconds.

Once they were leveled out and in their flight plan to Caracas, he picked up the microphone on his console, informing the passengers of their altitude and approximate arrival time to their destination.

"You may now move freely about the cabin, and how about some coffee Sylvia?" The Captain asked.

The stewardess handed each of the passengers some magazines, though Kuryakin had brought his own. How he'd managed to find a scientific journal in their short stay at the hotel was beyond Napoleon.

Sylvia offered them cocktails before seeing to the pilots.

"What can I get for you Miss Dancer, gentlemen?"

April decided on a Tom Collins, while Solo had his usual single malt scotch on the rocks, though they didn't stock his favorite. Illya erring on the side of caution for several reasons, declined anything alcoholic.

"Surely I can get something for you? Coffee, tea...me," the stewardess smiled.

Illya was in no mood for jokes and frowned at her.

"I'm sorry I was just trying to be friendly Mr. Kuryakin."

"No I apologize. I am... a bit under the weather. Might I have a cup of tea please?" He cleared his throat, trying to control another cough but didn't succeed.

"Absolutely," Sylvia remained cheerful in spite of Illya's momentary chastisement. "Could I get you some aspirin perhaps?"

"No thank you." He held up his bottle of pills for her to see.

She turned her attention to the General who asked for a glass of red wine, snorting his derision at the label that was available. Still it was better than nothing and would do for the moment.

"You okay tovarisch?" Napoleon leaned across the aisle closer to where his partner was seated. "You're looking a little flushed and that cough, you didn't have that yesterday."

"Stop being a mother hen; I am fine."

Solo looked at this watch. "You're due for your medication shortly. Make sure you take it please?"

"Yes Doctor Motherhen," Illya snickered.

"I'm not kidding. Why don't we check your dressing before you get too comfortable?"

The Russian slowly turned his head, dropping his chin and giving his partner the stink eye. "I told you I am fine. As you saw I behaved myself and asked for a cup of tea. I will take my medication with it. Satisfied."

"Yes I am." Napoleon buried his nose in his magazine, as did Kuryakin.

April tried not to laugh as she listened in on their banter. Sometimes they could be like two little children, though children who'd both die for the other.

Sylvia emerged from the galley, carrying the tray of drinks, stopping by each passenger and giving them their libation with a friendly greeting..

The last one to receive his was the General who nodded to her with a knowing smile.

She took the requested coffee to the pilots and when that was done, she seated herself on the sofa nearest to the cockpit and waited.

Napoleon downed his scotch after a few sips, but found himself feeling a bit warm and after loosening his tie, he undid the top button on his shirt. He tugged uncomfortably at his collar, not feeling any better, now concerned he might have caught whatever was working on his partner.

Looking across the aisle he saw Illya was asleep, as was April.

Solo yawned. "No they all couldn't fall asleep," he groggily thought." One of them had to remain awake."

"Sylvia," he called, thinking coffee was in order; yet he found it difficult to speak.

"_Yes Napoleon?_" She answered with an almost singsong tone and moved in front of him as he tried to rise from his seat. He staggered; his eyes darting everywhere as he felt like he was spinning.

"My my, can't hold your liquor Solo, can you?" Her voice was now sharp and sarcastic.

Napoleon took a step towards her but collapsed, dropping with his face coming to rest in between her breasts before he slipped down to the floor of the cabin; lying unconscious at Sylvia's feet.


	10. Chapter 10

Napoleon came around, finally opening his eyes, though he was forced to squint as the light hurt them.

His felt as though a sixteen wheeler had run over him, and his mouth tasted like an entire army of soldiers with very dirty boots had tramped through it. Quickly realizing he was no longer on the jet and out doors; the humidity of the rainforest and his memory of its smells assaulted his nose.

"Why hello there Napoleon," Sylvia oozed. She forced him to raise his chin, pushing it upwards with a riding crop held in her gloved hand; giving him no choice but to look at her.

Gone were the crisp white blouse and pencil skirt; instead she was dressed a pair of khaki riding chaps, a short sleeved khaki shirt and high brown leather boots. Her gorgeous hair was now drawn back in a severe bun, being worn so tight that it pulled her skin, giving her an almost maniacal Gloria Swanson-esque facial expression.

It suddenly occurred to him, the woman wasn't 'all there,' and half-expected her to say she was '_ready for her closeup..."_

"What did you do?" He stared into her blue eyes.

"Ahh, you were taken in so easily ...U.N.C.L.E.'s finest, pah!"

"You betrayed the Command Agent Henriques?"

"Are you that dimwitted? I'm not from your organization, I took your agent's place. Drugged your drinks, and those of the pilots and then we turned the jet around and landed it here.

"And where is exactly here, and who's the 'we' you're referring to?

She laughed. "Look around, don't you recognize this place?"

It hurt to turn his head, but as soon as he did; Napoleon knew their surroundings. They were back in the prison yard of _El fin del mundo._

"And the 'we' she is referring to is the two of us," a voice said, the person hidden by shadow from the wall.

Out stepped the General, taking his place beside the woman.

"Do you not see the family resemblance Senhor Solo?"

"What?" Napoleon's mouth hung open as he looked between the two.

"I am not Sylvia Henriques...that was your agent's name, poor girl; I had to dispose of her, permanently I'm afraid. You see, I am Leticia Constancis Machado, the youngest daugher of the esteemed Generalíssimo." She reached out taking her father by the hand.

The American took a deep breath, trying to take it all in as well as deal with his discomfort.

"Where's Dancer and Kuryakin...and the pilots? What have you done with them?"

"Oh sadly Captain Rollins and Lieutenant Gibbs are no more. The fiery Miss Dancer is safe and sound for the moment, in the former Warden's office. The accommodations there are quite comfortable in comparison to the rest of this place, especially the bedroom," the General smiled.

"And Illya?"

"Hmmm yes, your nasty little Soviet friend," Machado clicked his tongue. "Apparently he's not well at all. He was wounded in your escape from this place was he not?"

Machado watched for a reaction from Solo but was only mildly disappointed when there was none.

The General huffed. "Apparently his stitches are infected, and he is running a fever."

"He had antibiotics with him."

"Oh these?" Machado held up the pill bottle. He opened it, emptying the contents in the dirt and ground the pills beneath his boot heel.

Napoleon jerked at his bonds, his anger rising to the surface.

"Let me see him," he demanded.

"All in good time Senhor Solo."

The General snapped his fingers and two armed men appeared; the American recognizing them as former guards at the now abandoned prison.

"Take him to his cell until I am ready for him. You, like your partner Senhor Solo do not have long to live, so I suggest you make peace with your maker." The General laughed."I have a little hunting party planned for the two of you...you do like hunting do you not Senhor?"

Napoleon refused to answer as he was lifted to his feet, but the effects of the drug he'd been given made him unsteady and he started to stagger, nearly falling.

They grabbed him by the arms, holding him up and rather than letting him try to walk, dragging him along.

Exiting the yard through the tunnel that led to the interior of the prison; they halted at the first cell in the main wing.

The guards pushed Solo against the wall, holding him there until they opened the door of the ramshackled cell. They shoved him inside, and grabbing hold of the bars once covered in black paint, now chipped and flaking; Napoleon kept himself from falling.

Watching him struggle to remain standing; one of the guards finally spoke.

"Welcome back _gringo. _Your stay here is going to be short lived this time," they cackled as they walked away.

Napoleon craned his neck, trying to look around, thinking he saw someone laying on the bunk in the cell opposite his.

Not knowing if it was a prisoner who hadn't been able to escape or not; he called out.

"Illya? ILLYA! That you?"

He watched as a blond head rose from the mattress, as the Russian struggled to sit up.

"I am here."

"Are you sick...running a fever? Machado said you were."

"Yes but I am fine."

"I've heard that before,"Napoleon mumbled to himself." Apparently Sylvia our stewardess is the General's daughter and orchestrated the little charade that has apparently brought us back to square one again."

"Oh, I was wondering how I had gotten here. At first I thought it was all a dream and that we never escaped the prison in the first place, but then my stitches reminded me of the truth. I am afraid they are indeed infected, and my medication is missing."

"Yeah, about that. Machado destroyed your antibiotics."

"Where is April? Is she all right?" Illya rose from the bunk, taking a tentative step forward and grabbing onto the bars of his cell to steady himself; like Napoleon, he felt dizzy.

He looked down at his side, lifting his jacket and seeing a red stain on his shirt, but said nothing.

"Napoleon I believe we are not far from Dr. Bloom's cell," Illya's voice echoed in the empty prison block.

"So?"

"When we get out, I will need to search it for some of his herbal concoctions to use on my infection. Since we left the prison in haste the first time, I am sure he would have had to have left the majority of his supplies behind."

"Okay, say we get out and find his stash. How will you know what can help you?"Napoleon asked after lowering himself to the floor, as it was still too difficult to stand at the moment.

"I managed to have a few discussions with Dr. Bloom, and he showed me some of his herbal mixtures. He has made a fascinating study of the flora of the Amazonian rainforest and his.."

"Okay, I get, I get it _tovarisch_. So how do you propose we get out of here? They cleaned me out, I have nothing to use. How about you?"

Illya reached into his mouth with a shaky hand, fiddling with his fingers until he unwound a wire that was wrapped around his back molar..

"With this," he tried smiling.

"Smart Russian. Okay, have at it, but while you go get your herbs I'll go find April. Machado said he had her the Warden's office."

"That sounds like a plan. If it is still there, there is something in Bloom's medical bag of tricks that we can use to help affect our escape from this place," Illya sighed. "I never thought we would see this hell hole again."

"Hey me either buddy, now make with the lock pick. _Andiamo_let's go,"_ Napoleon called out in Italian.

Illya reached through the bars, inserting the wire into the lock but his trembling hand was not cooperating.

"_Chyort!" _He cursed in Russian. He'd dropped the wire and it fell to the floor outside of the cell.

He carefully lowered himself to his hands and knees, feeling around in the dim light for a few minutes.

"Yes!" He hissed with delight when he felt it. He raised himself up, starting the process again, forcing himself to concentrate in order to keep his hand steady.

There was a double click and the cell door pushed open.

Illya walked across to his partner, doing the same to Napoleon's door and in just a second the Russian had it unlocked.

Solo grabbed his partner by the arm, steadying himself. Illya was hot as hell from the fever and if they didn't do something about that Napoleon knew the Russian could possibly pass out.

They made their way across the empty cell block, at last finding Dr. Bloom's former cell. There was a makeshift shell containing jar after jar of dried plants and bits of cloth with herbs wrapped inside them.

"How do you know which ones are right?" Napoleon asked.

"I remember Bloom pointing to things as he spoke. If nothing was moved out of place then I will find what I need. My sense of smell will also aid me in the process as the poultice he used on me had a very specific odor, that I will recognize."

Illya sniffed each of the jars, selecting two of them, and a small vial of red liquid.

"This is Icoja bark: and is used for fever, It is also an astringent and disinfectant for healing septic wounds."

"These are bits from the cocoa tree and are also used for fever. And this red substance is sap called Sangre de Drago...dragon's blood and is an excellent wound healer."

Illya made up several pouches, including a few other herbs that were not named by him that he'd take with them; thinking positively they were going to escape.

There was a bucket of drinking water still there in the cell and he used it to make the wash with the Icoja bark. Peeling away the bandages covering his wound, the infection was revealed.

The skin around the stitches was bright red, and hot to the touch and there was a small about of bloody pus oozing out.

He took care of the wash, made a new poultice and Solo again volunteered his shirt, ripping it into strips to create a bandage that could again be tied into place. The last thing Kuryakin did was to swallow the fever reducing herbs, washed down with a swig of water.

Their supply of the doctor's concoctions were wrapped in the remainder of Napoleon's silk shirt.

"Accounting is going to love this one." Solo remarked.

"I think it will be a cheap price to pay for potentially saving my life."

"What do you mean, potentially?"

"Napoleon, though Dr. Bloom's work does show promise it is still only in the research phase. I do not know if these so-called treatments will truly work or not, but they are the best chance I have until we make it back to civilization."

"You almost finished with this?"

"Yes, go find April. I will meet you at the Warden's office. Be careful my friend.

"Likewise." Napoleon took off, feeling more himself now. He wasn't exactly happy about leaving Illya but at the same time something told him he had to find April...and fast.


	11. Chapter 11

April Dancer opened her eyes, though a groggy feeling filled her; still she knew she was no longer on the private jet.

Looking down at herself, she slowly raised her hands. They were free, but something was very wrong. She was not wearing the clothes she had dressed herself in that morning, instead she was wearing what looked like lingerie. A long white gown of sorts, clinging and revealing, so much so that she might have just as well been naked.

She wondered for a minute if it was just a silly dream, and pinched her forearm. Where was Napoleon, was she dreaming about a rendezvous with him?

"Ouch. No this is definitely not a dream," the red-haired agent said aloud.

She was seated in a high backed leather chair that was quite comfortable, and surveying her surroundings as her head began to slowly clear, April surmised it to be some sort of private office.

There was a large carved wooden desk in front of her flanked on either side by several large potted tropical plants. One of the walls was taken up entirely by a bookcase filled with a variety of tomes. To her right was a door, but since her field of vision was limited, she couldn't see what was behind her.

There she heard a door creak and heavy footsteps coming closer.

"Oh Senhorita, at last you are awake." General Machado appeared in front of her, seating himself on the corner of the desk.

"And how are you feeling my dear?"

"Where's Napoleon and Illya? What have you done with them?"

"Done? Oh nothing...yet. I do, however, have plans for them, as I do for you." His voice was oozing with sincerity.

"I told you if you hurt them, I'll have to shoot…"

The General threw back his head, his body shaking with laugher.

"You are hardly in a position to threaten me. Come come now, we can have a civil conversation without talking about killing. You are quite a beautiful woman as well as a formidable one, I find that extremely attractive. You must be thirsty, may I offer you a drink of cool water?"

He lifted a pitcher from the desk and filling a glass, he handed it to her.

April's throat was parched and she accepted it from him, swallowing it down in a few gulps.

"There I bet you feel much better now don't you?" He reached out, running his finger along her bare arm.

Normally such a thing would repulse her, and though she felt that way, her body didn't respond to her mind telling her to pull away. She suddenly had the sensation of being very heavy as if she were being drawn down to the earth.

"What did you give me?" She was barely able to talk. Her body starting tingling, especially in places she shouldn't be having those feelings right now, not with this man.

His piercing blue eyes caught her attention, and she found herself unable to break contact with them.

"You will listen to everything I say Miss Dancer, you will not resist me." Machado said it to her again and again. "Now repeat what I have said to you."

"Will listen, will not resist…" April's voice was small, monotone.

"Good. Come my dear, I think you are ready for me." Machado reached out his hand, taking her's, he led April to the other door, though she didn't want to go.

He opened it, revealing a bedroom with a large dark four-poster bed hung with diaphonus curtains and a silken white coverlette atop a soft, inviting mattress.

Machado took her to it and as she stood there motionless, he swept away her hair from the back of her neck his hand and began to kiss and suck on her skin.

She wanted to lash out at him but had absolutely no control over her body. Whatever he'd given her in that glass of water had taken away her ability to act.

The General lifted the delicate white gown above her head, removing it, and then it began. He touched her everywhere with his hands and her around, he forced his lips onto hers.

He tasted of cigars and liquor and she wanted to gag, but couldn't.

Lowering April to the bed; Machado spread her legs, staring at her hungrily. "Ah so you are a true redhead," he snickered.

He unzipped his trousers, and dropping them, he climbed on top of her.

April could do nothing but lay there, feeling only the heaviness of body as he violated her.

She screamed but there was no sound, Feelings of helplessness and despair took over her emotions as her heart pounded and her breathing quickened.

Her head flopped to the side; tears trickling down her cheeks while the General proceeded to do vile things to her. She finally let out a moan, when the pain this sadistic animal had inflicted upon her became unbearable.

"Ah so you like it rough," Machado said."Don't worry there is plenty more where that came from. I just may keep you around to amuse me for a while."

Napoleon found the Warden's office easily enough as when he and Illya had been first brought to the prison when on their assignment, a visit there was mandatory for all new prisoners.

The door was closed, and he listened, not hearing anything. He slowly opened it, finding the office empty. Solo began searching the desk for any sort of weapon, and discovered a revolver in the top drawer, along with a box of bullets.

"Bingo," he smiled. That was when he heard it, grunts coming from the next room, and a repetitious dull, thud thud thud thud….

The door was slightly ajar and he peeked in, seeing Machado in bed on top of a woman. It took him a second to realize who that woman was.

Napoleon was filled with rage and charged in; pistol whipping the man. Machado dropped on top of April, and Solo quickly pulled him off her, dumping the General to the floor.

April was laying there, glassy eyed, with tears were streaming down her cheeks. She was bruised and bleeding from her lower extremities, as the General had abused her terribly.

Napoleon called her name, but she was unresponsive.

"April honey. It's okay you're all right. I'm here...I'm here. Come back to me baby," he held her in his arms, whispering to her, pleading with her.

Nothing.

Solo hesitated, looking between the revolver in his hand and the General; He should kill the bastard and aiming the pistol at Machado's head; he stopped himself; if Illya were here, the Russian wouldn't hesitate in blowing out the man's brains, but he wasn't.

Napoleon stopped himself and tucked the weapon into the waist of his trousers; shoving the box of bullets into his pocket.

He bend down, picking up the white gown from the floor and slipped April into it; wrapping her in a sheet from the bed; Napoleon scooped her up into his arms.

He carried her out of the office, down a corridor to the landing where he'd hoped Illya would be, but there was no sign of the Russian.

.

Illya finished gathering everything he needed to treat his infection and fever, putting it in a small canvas bag that Bloom kept under his mattress. The last thing he did was stuff a sealed jar of white powder into it and slinging it over his shoulder; Illya headed out to find his partner and April.

Like Napoleon, he knew the way to the Warden's office.

The corridors were dimly lit, since the prison had seemingly been abandoned. As he prepared to climb the steps leading to the next level where the office was located, Illya heard a sound.

He slowly put down the canvas bag, and unscrewing the jar of white powder he carefully took some of it into hand.

It was then he heard the shrill screech as someone dove towards him, leaping onto his back and grabbing him by the throat, trying to strangle him with a riding crop.

Illya drove himself backwards, slamming Sylvia against a the bars of a cell door, again and again until she released her grip. She slipped down to the floor as Illya staggered forward, gasping for air.

His side was bleeding again and he doubled over in pain. Just as he straightened up, Sylvia attacked him again, trying to rake her fingernails across his face.

Illya went down on his knees, using her own momentup to throw her off him. As she hit the floor, landing on her back, he opened up his fist and taking a deep breath he blew the white powder in her face.

She breathed it in with a gasp, and crossing her eyes; she passed out.

The powder was something Dr. Bloom used to quickly knock out a patient when he had to perform a painful operation, though he never told Kuryakin what the ingredients were.

"Thank you Doctor," Illya coughed, gasping to catch his breath. He gathered up the canvas bag, and though he was staggering, he headed up the stairs to find the others.

The pain in his side was severe and he held his hand to it as he coughed again, this time quite violently.

Blooms poultice and fever treatments would only do so much, and Illya knew that if he didn't get proper medical attention soon, the Amazon rainforest would claim him as it's next victim.


	12. Chapter 12

Napoleon gently laid the unresponsive body of April Dancer to the floor as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He couldn't be sure if it was his partner or not and aimed his pistol into the darkness, just in case.

The person, upon reaching the landing called out in a low voice.

"Napoleon?"

"Here," Solo responded immediately, breathing a sigh of relief.."April's hurt."

Illya appeared, bruised and scratched, his shirt stained with a crimson blossom. He was as pale as a ghost.

"What happened _tovarisch_?"

"I had a run in with Sylvia."

"Is she dead?"

"No only sleeping, I used one of Bloom's concoctions on her that served as anesthetic, though I do not know how long she will be out."

"Illya. April seems to be in a some sort of trance. We need to get out of here now, so we'll have to carry her. By the way, Sylvia is not Sylvia; she's Leticia Constancis Machado, the General's youngest daughter and crazier than he is."

"I did not know that, her identity that is, but crazy...I found that out the hard way. When did you discover who she was?"

"When she and the General hijacked the jet; you and April were already out cold. She slipped us all a mickey in our drinks and she killed the pilots."

"Where is Machado?"

"He's in the Warden's private boudoir, and unconscious as I cold cocked him. Illya he raped April...hurt her bad." There was a sadness in Solo's voice with a suppressed, anger just lying beneath the surface.

Illya said nothing, what could he say to assuage Napoleon's feelings?

Kuryakin knelt down with some effort, and reaching into the canvas sack he carried, he withdrew a small ball of cloth. He opened it and put a pinch of dried leaves into Dancer's mouth but sadly, it did nothing.

"This should have woken her up,"he shook his head.

With some difficulty, the two men lifted April between them and made their way down the steps; this at least left one of Solo's hands free to carry the pistol in his hand. Luckily he had, as they encountered Machado's two guards and after a brief fire fight, they were dispatched.

Illya grabbed one of the guard's rifles as well as a machete the other had carried, knowing they'd need it as they yet again escaped into the rainforets.

Together they continued to carry April between them as they climbed through the hole they'd blown in the prison yard wall only days before.

It was hard, but Illya refused to give in to his pain. His partner's efforts weren't lost on Solo.

"Have a feeling of deja vú here?" Napoleon huffed as he stared out at the edge of the rainforest.

The agents continued into the jungle as they had last time and stopped when they guessed were far enough away. It was hard to tell as they were in a particularly dense spot, with little light filtering down through the canopy.

After laying April down, Illya dropped on the ground next to her, holding his side.

"I know you are going to accuse me of being dramatic Napoleon, but I think you need to leave me," his hand came up wet with blood. "I am not sure I have the strength to continue."

"Could you walk if you didn't have to carry April?"

"I think I could, but for how long, I have no idea."

Solo took the machete, and cutting down a pair of thin pliable trees, he cleaned off the branches and leaves. Chopping off a length of vine, he use it all along with the sheet from the bed to fashion a narrow makeshift travois on which he could put April and at least drag her. It wouldn't be easy as the rainforest floor was uneven, but it would have to do.

Napoleon had no choice to do double duty of dragging April and using the machete to cut away at the plant life that blocked their way. Illya was in no condition to do anything other than keep himself erect and walking.

The insect life was relentless attacking them, and the air was filled with the sounds of the forest. The incessant singing of frogs and the screeching of birds and monkeys echoed around them. If their situation had been different, the songs of the rainforest would have been enchanting, but being tired and injured had a way of ruining such thoughts.

They had to keep moving but finally exhaustion was setting in and they were forced to stop and rest.

"Napoleon, let me try to at least cut the path for a bit. You cannot keep it up all by yourself."

"No, I'll not have you kill yourself doing it, you're too weak and you're bleeding," Solo panted as he lowered himself to the ground next to Illya.

"Where are we going?"The Russian asked out of the blue.

Napoleon suddenly realized he didn't know.

"Well there's no chopper waiting for a homing device to be activated." Even though it remained under the skin of Napoleon's forearm; he never had it removed.

He took a deep breath, still thinking. Solo's eyes went wide as he smiled.

"There has to be a landing strip...the jet has to be here somewhere. Do you remember seeing anything when we were up in the chopper the first time?"

Illya's eyes turned upwards, trying to remember, though though a landing strip was something he wasn't looking for at the time of their previous escape from the prison. He should still have been able see it in his mind's eye, thanks to the abilities of his eidetic memory that allowed him to recall every image, sound, or object he'd looked at or heard. Yet sometimes it failed him…

Perhaps it was his physical condition, that was affecting him as he was finding it difficult to concentrate. He closed his eyes.

Moments later the image he was searching for popped into his head; a primitive runway carved out of the jungle. Picturing where it, and the chopper had been in relation to the position of the prison; Illya opened his eyes.

"We need to head that way Napoleon," he pointed." I am sure it is that way." Though it was a guess on the Russian's part, he trusted his partner's uncanny sense of direction.

Napoleon lifted the travois, now holding it up with both hands as he dragged it, having given in to his partner; he followed Illya as he hacked away the brush with the machete.

They lost track of time, and after a few more breaks to rest they emerged to a clearing, and not a natural one. They'd found the landing strip.

"There," Illya panted, pointed to their far left." The jet is there." He was soaked with perspiration from his efforts, and wiped his brow with his sleeve.

It was much easier going with the travois on the flattened surface and once they reached the plane, Napoleon pulled open the door and flipped the stairs into place.

He lifted April from the stretcher, and carried her on board, followed by his partner who closed and secured the door after them.

Carefully laying Dancer on the sofa, Napoleon stood for a moment, staring at her.

April's eyes had been closed but as soon as he put her down they opened again. His heart leapt, thinking she was coming out of it, but was disappointed when he found she remained glassy eyed, still in the trance-like state.

"Napoleon, she will be all right. We all will." Illya reassured as he inspected his wound. It looked better as the bleeding had stopped and he was sure his fever had finally broken." Come my friend, you had best fly the jet as I fear I am not up to the task; I will, however, be your co-pilot."

"That works for me so let's get the hell out of here."

They slipped through the curtain, and took their places in the cockpit and after a quick pre-flight check Solo started the engines.

He checked the fuel gauges and cursed. "We're low. I hope we can make it back to Sao Paulo."

Napoleon taxied the jet, turning it around and giving the engines more power it quickly moved forward, gathering enough speed for take off.

The nose lifted, and they rose, barely clearing the top of the forest canopy.

At last they were escaping the nightmare of the End of the World…

.

Two figures appeared, walking slowly from behind the galley curtain and moving up the aisle of the plane; they headed towards the cockpit.

Solo and Kuryakin froze as they heard the sound of a gun cocking from behind them and turned slowly to see a hand holding a pistol appearing through the curtains.

"Ah Senhors, so good of you to join us," the General announced himself.

"Shit," Napoleon mumbled under his breath. Neither of them were armed as they'd left their weapons in the back cabin.

"Now if you will change your heading to these coordinates Mr. Solo,"he handed a piece of paper to the American.

"Mr. Kuryakin, if you will be so good as to vacate your seat. Leticia will take your place.

The Russian let his disgust show on his face as the two exchanged places.

"I will see to you later Kuryakin," she laughed in his face.

"I look forward to it, but I am sure the results of our meeting will be the same as when last we danced together."

"Pah! _Cão Russo___Russian dog!_"She practically spat.

"And nice white teeth with which to tear out your throat," Illya flashed her a feral smile.

As soon as he entered the cabin, Illya moved to April. He tried not to grimace, but moving caused him a lot of pain. His side was bleeding again.

He glanced around the cabin, but there was no sight of the rifle and pistol he and Solo had left there. Staring at Machado's back, he wondered if it was worth taking a dive at the man. Perhaps he could grab his weapon? No, in his physical state, weaker than he cared to admit; the General would no doubt easily overtake him and then of course there was his crazy daughter.

Napoleon would have to deal with Sylvi..no Leticia," he corrected himself. The plan was too risky, better to wait for a more advantageous opportunity. Illya was sure there'd be one.

Kuryakin glanced at April, seeing nothing still but the blank stare. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Better to rest for the moment.

Illya eventually stirred, feeling movement in front of him. He opened his eyes, seeing a figure, a bloody figure dressed in white.

April was standing behind Machado, aiming Napoleon's pistol at his back...how she'd gotten the weapon, Illya had no idea.

"You hurt my friends and me," she called out, her voice strained and hoarse."I warned you what would happen."

She cocked the pistol as the startled General turned, attempting to charge her.

April fired. He staggered backwards a few steps but stretched out his hands reaching towards her, and with another lurch forward he grabbed her by the throat.

Illya pushed himself forward, knocking Machado off his feet and April fired the pistol again, shooting the man in the head before she collapsed to the floor.

Leticia moved from her seat to come to her father's aid but Napoleon grabbed her, but by doing so he let go of the controls with his hands, holding the wheel with his knee as he and the crazed woman struggled; the jet began to climb out of control. The rapid ascent made the engines stall, and as Solo karate chopped the her on the neck and into unconsciousness and scrambled to restart the engines.

"Hold on! He yelled." We're going down!''


	13. Chapter 13

Solo woke up to the smell of smouldering wires and a sizeable lump on his head. The cockpit was a shambles but nearly intact but when he tried to stand he let out a yelp as pain shot up his obviously broken leg.

_"__Illya!_" He shouted.

"I am here,"the Russian's head appeared through the curtains. Outdoor light was shining behind him as the cabin had been ripped in half. He pulled himself into the copilot's seat, surveying the damage.

"April?"

"She came to and shot the General, but passed out again. She seems to have not sustained any further injuries. I think Sylv...Leticia was thrown from the plane; if she is alive, I do not know."

"How the hell did we survive this?" Napoleon mumbled, holding his head, knowing a miracle had just occurred.

"Your Solo luck, one can only hope." Illya picked up the microphone, switching on the radio; amazingly it was still working.

"Mayday mayday this is flight BT 97 I repeat Bravo Tango Niner-7. We have crashed, I say again we have crashed. Bravo Tango Niner-7 is down."

"This is tower control at Viracopos Airport Senhor, what is your location?"

Looking at the on the controls for the compass, Napoleon and Illya made a quick guesstimate, and gave them the approximate coordinates.

Several hours later the agents were safe in their hospital beds in Sao Paulo with Alexander Waverly having been informed of their rescue.

The body of General Machado was recovered and his daughter Leticia, who survived the crash with only contusions and abrasions, had been taken into custody. By all estimates, she was going to be confined to a mental institution for some time. She was raging about killing April Dancer as well as Solo and Kuryakin among other things.

Several days later Napoleon, his leg in a cast and using crutches, was the only one of the three agents who was mobile.

After emergency surgery, Illya's wound cleaned though he was now on a cocktail of antibiotics and confined to his hospital bed. The surgeon reassured Solo his partner would be fine, and Napoleon knew that for sure when he found out Illya was already terrorizing the nursing staff and complaining about wanting to leave.

April finally came out of her trance, but she too had needed some minor surgery to repair the damage done to her by the General's vicious attack. She was sleeping a lot, and the doctors advised that was the best thing for her at the moment.

Napoleon entered her room for the first time, finding her laying in bed, staring out the window. Her hair had been washed and combed out, with the sunlight shining on it making it shimmer.

"Hi there gorgeous," he smiled, standing at her bedside.

"Mmm, hi. I was wondering when I'd see you. I was told we were in a plane crash? I don't remember that."

"Actually I've been here with you off and on, but you were sort of out of it," He sat down, and took her hand in his. "What do you remember?"

"I recall feeling so sleepy when we were in the Learjet and just couldn't keep my eyes open. Napoleon, I had the strangest dream. I was in an office and the General came in, we talked. I was dressed in a rather revealing piece of lingerie, but that's it. I can't recall the rest of it. What happened to us? Illya's all right, isn't he?"

"The plane crashed in the jungle. We never made it to Cuba," he bent the truth to weave his tale.

"The General died as did the crew, only you, me and Illya made it out alive. Illya needed a little surgery as his stitches were infected and he was running a fever, but he's on the mend now and cranky as ever." Napoleon didn't hesitate hiding the truth to protect her.

"Wow I did miss a lot, didn't I?

"You my dear were very lucky as a piece of wreckage nearly ruined your ummm, lady parts," he ended the lies there, thinking that was as good an explanation for what Machado had done to her that he could think of. April not remembering any of it was a blessing in disguise. No doubt the trauma and what ever drug he'd slipped her were responsible.

Napoleon stood, and leaning over; he gently kissed her on the forehead.

"You just concentrate on getting better. I'll be in to see you later. Maybe I can sneak in some outside food and we can have dinner together."

"That sounds good and I promise I'll try," she said, giving him a little wave as he hobbled out the door on his crutches.

Aprils eyes welled up, remembering more than she let on…

A week later the three agents returned to New York, there was no need to give any reports to Waverly as Napoleon, had done so via video conference from the Sao Paulo office.

Mark appeared at the employee reception to greet his partner and the others, and winked at Solo as he escorted April to their office.

They'd all been assigned to light duty and had nothing more than paperwork to occupy their times.

Slate had been filled in by Napoleon as to what had really happened in Brazil so he could keep an eye on his partner, just in case.

Somehow Napoleon had managed to keep the truth out of the final reports. He'd sworn the doctor who treated her in Sao Paulo to secrecy but refused tell Illya or Mark how he managed that.

If Waverly was the wiser, he never showed it, but Napoleon became suspicious when the Old Man, while in a meeting with his CEA. kept asking for clarification as to what happened on the plane after they escaped the prison for the second time.

Though Napoleon was good at keeping his stories straight, being grilled by Alexander Waverly was worse that some of the most grueling interrogations he'd experienced at the hands of T.H.R.U.S.H.

"Mr. Solo, though you are quite good at what you do...do you really think you can put things over on me, especially when it comes to my agents? Given Miss Dancer is the only female Section II agent at present, do you think I don't to keep extra tabs on her?"

"Sorry sir, it just didn't cross my mind."

"Well young man I do. Section I was hesitant to put a woman in the field exactly for the reason you have tried to hide from me. Some of them feel a woman doesn't belong out there. I however disagree, and I think women agents can make a great contribution to the organization," Waverly stood, walking over to the window, he gazed out at the U.N. building while puffing on his pipe.

"TImes are changing Mr. Solo, and U.N.C.L.E. must keep up. Though a woman is considered the fairer sex; she is not helpless. She may be at greater risk because of her gender, to those who would take advantage of a woman. It is but one aspect of fieldwork that a female agent must be willing to abide. Sexual abuse is not exclusive to females; you are well aware that male agents face those same dangers too. Miss Dancer knew of such risks when she accepted the position as a Section II agent. I assure you that his will not deter me from adding more female agents to the field."

"Sir, just exactly where are you going with this if I may ask?"

"What I am saying is that the incident that occurred with Miss Dancer will indeed be kept out of her medical records as well as the final reports on this affair. It is my understanding that she does not remember what happened to her and until such time, no one will bring anything up that had to do with the Brazil affair. If and when she does remember the sordid details, she will be given the appropriate counseling and care."

Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes sir."

"You are dismissed Mr. Solo." Waverly returned to his conference table, removing the cozy from a tea pot that had been sitting there and poured himself a cup of tea.

Napoleon rose, turning to leave.

"And Mr. Solo,"

"Sir?"

"In the future if you ever hide information from me again, you will be severely disciplined. Am I clear on this? It is at my discretion what appears or not in a final report."

Napoleon's eyebrows shot up. "Crystal sir."

"Oh and one more thing Mr. Solo. Apparently Leticia Machado has escaped from the asylum in Sao Paulo. We are unsure of her where abouts but will be on the lookout for her."

"Thank you for the heads up sir." Napoleon headed out the door.

Though he, Illya and April were recovering and safe, knowing that the crazed Leticia was on the loose was unsettling.

"One more person who wants to kill us...what else is new?"Solo reasoned as he hobbled on his crutches down the grey corridors he called his home away from home.

He sauntered up to Medical as he just didn't feel like working on his reports, though there was a fair pile of them on his desk, mostly in need of clarification requested by Waverly.

He was a stickler for detail and Solo was not, at least when it came to his reports. Illya was the one who had an eye for such things and of course typing out the report helped since Napoleon's handwriting was atrocious.

Granted their Secretary could type them up, but couldn't insert the details of the mission like Kuryakin could.

Illya wouldn't be released to light duty just yet, and the reports could wait in Napoleon's estimation. Instead he decided to pay a visit to the Russian, if just for a few minutes.

As he entered Kuryakin's room, his partner was eating something from a bowl. After swallowing a spoonful of dark red soup, he greeted the American.

"What's that you're eating? Doesn't look like anything they'd serve here?"Solo asked.

"Borscht," Illya wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Georgina Semanov from translation made it for me."

"Hmm, you have a fan club I guess." Napoleon smiled as he sat down.

"You are not the only one with lady friends at headquarters, though I have not slept with them as you have with your female acquaintances."

"You must be feeling better chum; you're singing them at me like your old self."

"One tries," Illya flashed a crooked smile.

"So I was thinking, once you're out of here and feeling up to it...why don't we take some vacation days and head to Rio for Carnival?"

"Really? That is what has been on your mind since we escaped that accursed rain forest? Do you really think I want to go back to Brazil that soon after what we went through? I am sorry my friend, but you are sadly mistaken if you.."

"Relax , I was only joking," Napoleon laughed." Though maybe Mardi Gras in New Orleans might be fun?"

"Sometimes I do not understand your sense of humor at all,"Illya said. He picked up his bowl of soup and slurped the remainder from it, letting a little of the red liquid dribble down his chin.

"Mmm, that was good, You should try borscht Napoleon, it is very tasty, especially with a dollop of sour cream in it." He wipe his face with his napkin and folded it up, placing it on his tray.

"And sometimes I don't think you have a sense of humor Illya."

"Oh I do, trust me I do. By the way I will not be able to work on your reports when I get out of here. I forgot to tell you that several of the keys broke on my typewriter and it must be sent out for repair."

"You're kidding? Oh man. Well could you at least look over the reports for me. If you make some notes, at least the secretary can type them up."

"Bad news on that front as well. My reading glasses, that were in my luggage on the plane, were damaged beyond repair so I must have new ones made. Since they are a special prescription, they will take at least a week to ten days before they are ready. I am not too happy about that as I had some very intriguing scientific journals I was hoping to read."

Solo sighed, crossing his arms in front of himself and tapping his fingers as realized this wasn't going well for him at all.

"So are you at least getting nice frames instead you're ugly Soviet ones?"

"_Napoleon?"_

"Yeah chum."

"I was only joking."

"Really?" Napoleon sighed in relief." Hey, that was a pretty good _tovarisch._"

"And you said I had no sense of humor," Illya chuckled.


End file.
